Eve Ere the Dawn
by soulful-sin
Summary: Inspired by Wooden Clarinet, this vignette also goes into Squid's feelings, but this time, the night before his birthday.


Author's Note: I was inspired by "Wooden Clarinet", but I hope it was only inspiration and not plagiarism. If it was, feel free to throw things at me and I'll remove the story a.s.a.p.

Disclaimer: I don't own Spongebob. That was relatively painless.           

"Eve ere the Dawn"

            It was the eve of his birthday. Squidward sat on his bed, Clara in hand, gazing at the wall. His migraine was worse than ever, it was always awful on the day before he officially aged. To boot, Spongebob's used himself as a tennis ball again, and his and Patrick's laughter grated on his nerves.

            Why did he have to be put next door to such lunatics? What did he do in a past life to deserve torture like this night and day? At least he didn't tell them tomorrow was his birthday; he could spare himself that joy. If they were so hyperactive when it wasn't his birthday, he hated to think about what they'd do if it really were.

            _He'd probably invite all of Bikini Bottom for a moronic dance party_, Squid thought and laughed. _He'd blow up all these balloons and fill himself up with helium as well. Ha, ha! Stupid Spongebob_.

            His parents never had the time to see him to bed on that night, since they inevitably wound up working late. By the time the morning came, they were gone again, much to his distress. Sure, they were there practically 364 days of the year, but not the one day that counted. Birthdays came to be a source of irritation to Squid, since he wound up spending them alone.

            Now, of course, he wanted to be alone. Migraines don't usually invite company especially not that of a sponge whose laughter was so incredibly high pitched he was surprised it didn't break windows. Birthdays were solitude, a time to reflect on his art and music, to throw himself into something so heavily he didn't realize how miserable he was.

            He was miserable, but not in a way that Spongebob really thought could be helped. For all his bubble blowing and jelly fishing (only the former worked), nothing made him happy, not the way Spongebob intended. Misery may love company, but this miser hated it. All he wanted was to be alone and, when he was alone, he was miserable. The vicious cycle wound itself about him so tightly that he sometimes struggled for breath.

            There were ways to pretend he was happy, like his art. No one really took him seriously for it, not that he expected them to understand. Every time he painted himself, it was to try to create a smile on his face, to make himself happy, if only as an illusion. Illusion meant so much to him, for someone without an imagination. Maybe that was why he never smiled in his paintings; he could never see himself do so, unless it was malicious.

            Illusion showed itself in other ways as well. For all he loved Clara and tried to make those crystal notes Spongebob pulled out of the water, he could never sound like Spongebob. All that would come out were these sour notes, from a sourpuss who couldn't change and hated himself for it. Sometimes he wondered why everything the sponge wanted came but nothing Squid ever wanted worked the way he'd hoped.

            Squidville, for one, was an experiment in futility. All he gleamed from that was too many of his kind in one place drove him mad. Maybe he was just stuck in the squid stereotype of dead seriousness and cruelty. Maybe he was destined for something more…

            But destiny played no part in his life, nothing he could see. Spongebob could have destiny, he could have all those friends, he could have his fandom and that stupid box, all Squidward needed was Clara, like all a flower needs is the sun. Squidward only had a half of his life complete, but he couldn't find the other. Destiny was for fools.

            He pulled the blankets over himself and Clara, tucking her in for the night. If he couldn't have someone else there, at least he could have something meaningful beside him. Even if she gave no warmth, she was some comfort. Cold and hard, like him.

            _Fools._

***

            "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SQUIDWARD!" Spongebob screamed through a megaphone, Patrick beside him. What astounded him was he recalled putting locks on his doors and windows last week so they'd stop breaking in. Why on earth couldn't some barnacles take a hint? 

            "It's not my birthday!"

            "Yeah, it is. We asked your parents."

            Patrick nodded emphatically and made some noises that Squid took as general stupidity on his part and ignored him.

            "So…" Spongebob looked really excited and Squidward's heart sank. That meant he'd arranged something.

            Sure enough, when he walked downstairs, all of Bikini Bottom was in his house, throwing a dance party.

            _Happy birthday, me. I hate birthdays._

***

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